


EVERYBODY LOVES YOU

by Lymle (Faize)



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Eldritch, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Licking, M/M, Multi, Other, Psychological Horror, Voyeurism, mild dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 01:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21235514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faize/pseuds/Lymle
Summary: They don't want you to leave.





	EVERYBODY LOVES YOU

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, welcome to the fic that's been months in the making. 
> 
> Dedicated to my bubbie, Nick, who inspired me with their art, which is embedded into the story below.

"Now...almost done, just need to carefully insert the connectors here... There! Now the alchemy engine should work twice as fast! Theoretically."

"Now I just need to test it- Oh!" Wilson was interrupted by a sensation upon his shoulder. It was cool and roamed slowly across his back as if searching for something. Shadows were not uncommon in this place but it was unusual to see one so docile, maybe even friendly. How nice of Maxwell, although a bit distracting. He was in the mood for science right now! This notion wavered as the hand began massaging his shoulder, releasing tension he didn't even know he had, most likely from the hours of hunching over he'd done today. Another hand mirroring the first appeared, alleviating more of the tension, both soothing and lulling him. Wilson sighed, moving to sit down. The hands were very persuasive...science could wait...

Hands erupted from the ground, lifting him up and impeding his progress towards the Throne.

"So impatient, aren't we? It would only take a few moments to be by your side." Wilson said, feeling himself become more aroused from moment to moment.

Meanwhile, Maxwell felt sick to his stomach. They were taunting him, drawing forth fantasies into reality and showing him how truly powerless he was here. Cruel hands, unlike his own, able to roam over Wilson's sweet body; to feel instead of be felt. He wanted to touch him so badly. After all that's why they were doing this to him. It was simply the newest way They had concocted to twist his thoughts and actions. Words hung heavy in his throat as he stared on, aroused and horrified all at once.

Every fiber of his battered soul screamed for Them not to hurt Wilson, not to leave him alone, again.

For now, They were being kind to him, bearing him on a bed of hands and easing his weary body. Maxwell could faintly hear quick breaths and the sound burned within him.

The hands were snaking, winding about him, pawing and grasping against his clothes vying for entry. Wilson was flattered by the desperation, in hindsight feeling a small twinge of guilt towards Maxwell. He must really want this. How human of him. Wilson smiled, and then moved his hand towards his vest to aid in removing it. The hands paused and parted where necessary, but never left. The hands reacted to the removal of the vest in haste, swarming to remove shirt and pants in similar fashion and touch the pale flesh beneath. My my, how apt they were! He may not know why or how they exist but they seemed to be fully articulate and versatile.

Fascinating.

They were cool on his skin, like water taken form and flowing about him. One hand slid from his collarbone to his pudgy stomach, the result of the relative peace afforded to him by being so close to the Throne. A welcome change from feeling his ribs stab into him for the fourth time in a single night. This place was temperate, like the caves, and the neutral temperature in tandem with the questionable nature of this world allowed vegetation to flourish even in a place with no light but lanterns and braziers. The rustle of pine needles was sweet music without the looming threat of hounds, and it was no less true in this moment. It lingered, the hand, as if in mystery at Wilson's anatomy before grasping what it could hold. He was struck with a peculiar sensation washing over him, rushing and receding like waves at high-tide. To his recollection that area on his body wasn't sensitive before. How strange.

Another grasped following the first hand's cues and Wilson shuddered, his mind flush with ecstasy.

"Hhhhh..."

What were they doing?! Maxwell fought against the bindings and his arousal, mortified by Their actions. It was embarrassing, to have his depraved thoughts to be revealed so wholly, ones he never had the courage to voice. They were so damned intent on making those thoughts sickeningly, alluringly real but in turn, beyond his reach. If there were still blood in veins...Well, he wouldn't be stuck in this accursed plane! They had affected upon him a coward's position; all he could do was watch as he had watched before the freedom of the survivors: with envy.

Wilson shuddered again, reveling in the sensations being gifted to him by the multitude of hands. They ran over him now like a rushing current, divided yet unified in purpose. His nipples had since been worn pink and tender under their care, sensitive to each and every touch.

There was ever so much touching. At times a ringing in his ears would overwhelm his senses but he was not yet overcome. For all their ministrations they laid still upon his nether regions. Now, he'd known Maxwell to be reserved at the best of times, but all this teasing could only go one way, surely? Perhaps Wilson needed to guide him along, before things became too much.

Hands again parted in his movements, some quirking and tapping in curiosity. They had not yet removed his undergarments, which broadly showed his swelling member upon the fabric. Carefully he eased himself out of his undergarments and shivered at the difference in temperature.

Still They wavered, unsure in this regard where in every other They were fervent. He took his cock into his hand and stroked it slowly, as if the action was a demonstration. Within the several strokes, the hands had moved to their previous actions with seemingly little regard towards Wilson's actions. However, as soon as Wilson's hand moved to the tip this time, a shadowy hand grasped at the base, running a pleasant chill through him. Cold hands should be unpleasant but this situation was proving ever more to be the exception.

Wilson was being unwound, all of his skin laid bare to the hands' unending touch. It was indescribable, he could barely think. Sound was all he could comprehend: the shifting sound of uncountable hands, stuttered breaths and the static. Couldn't remember if he came already, everything had grown numb, couldn't remember much of anything right now.

Sensation returned slowly, the static dulling to nothing and giving him some clarity. Yet through all this the hands never ceased, and endless rush about him.

It was an interesting experience but it was beginning to wear out its welcome.

"Could you stop for a bit Max? I'd like to get my bearings, if you would."

Maxwell meanwhile was dying. Figuratively of course, the Throne would allow no more. An internal hell was his, set upon the edge, unable to back away or move forward. It was so painful he could hardly see, much less hear. They'd done it-he couldn't stop Them, Wilson looked so beautiful; he hated himself. Everything was dry, so dry, rasps were all he could muster.

It was a miracle he'd heard Wilson speak at all.

A miracle and a curse. Despair, not blood ran through his veins and he was choking on the dust of words unspoken. Desperately he tried to whet his throat, to say something, anything!

"Help-can't..."

He hadn't wanted to say that at all, but it was all he could do it seemed. Wilson evidently hadn't heard it at all based on his increasingly frustrated expression.

"Release me Maxwell!"

"I..can't."

"What do you mean, 'no'?! These are your shadows!"

"No!-"

"N-no?!! Maxwell stop this this instant!" Wilson said indignantly, attempting to break free of the hands' clutches.

"-It's Them. Not me. I can't...control Them." The words slithered out of him like leeches, draining Wilson's face of color for a moment before returning to a furious red.

"I can't trust you at all! I thought we had progressed somehow but you-! Despicable." Wilson scowled.

"You still don't understand do you? They control everything here." Maxwell huffed, trying to vent the awful tension within him.

"You told me They only watch, but now you're telling me they control everything so which is it?" Wilson glared, his fury fueling his efforts to pull from the restraints that proved as resilient as Maxwell's own. The hands continued on, flushing every bit of Wilson's bare skin with pink under persistent movement.

"They are one and the same," Maxwell coughed, "Watching, controlling; there's no difference between the two for Them."

"Is there anything you can do at all?"

The words stung. Maxwell wanted nothing more than to do something, to get them to stop this torture. He'd wanted that from the beginning. Come on, wasn't there something...he struggled to recall...

"...Maxwell. Why are They doing this now when they weren't before?"

He knew why of course. If he didn't They wouldn't taunt him like this.

"I know what you're thinking Higgsbury. I can't control Them. But They are always watching, always listening. I'm...connected to Them. And They are connected to me. Their king."

Maxwell burned, no longer with mortification but fury; to will Them to watch and Obey.

Slowly, slowly the hands pulled away from Wilson though They tried to resist, grabbing at skin to no avail. The sea of hands was at last receding, releasing Wilson after a tense few minutes.

Wilson collapsed to his knees in relief, stamina drained from the recent stress.

For Maxwell there was no release, only the momentary cessation of feeling serving to imitate relief. The last hand sunk into the ground, but still he held on subduing Them. He could feel Their anger, the burning sensation as hot and fresh as only They could make it, held at a distance only by his sense of accomplishment. For a moment he remembered the William he used to be, that foolishly determined man who loved hard and fell even harder. Icarus he was, burning up in the sun again in the heat of Their anger. They left him like that, burning inside and he couldn't even beg for oblivion.

He felt like a dog, not even panting was helping to cool him off. Damn Them. If he could speak he would have laughed. How furious must They be at him expressing a power of his own instead of Theirs! Ha, let Them be angry, he'd succeeded in defying Them this time. Soon perhaps, They would scheme some new torture for him or the survivors but for now they were quite preoccupied with Their anger.

They had become awfully very creative as of late, one might even say spiteful. They didn't like another human lurking for so long close to Their home. They liked to preform behind the curtain, but now there were two behind the stage. There was nothing more Maxwell could do for that, They knew, but They couldn't care less. This indecision on the part of the future King infuriated Them and although the rules They en-stated forbade Them direct harm against future royalty, that didn't mean there wasn't other ways of persuasion. They'd learned much of human emotion during Maxwell's time on the Throne. Too much.

"They won't hurt you now." Maxwell spoke between pants. Wilson didn't seem to be faring much better, as he'd given up holding himself up, electing instead to press his face against the smooth, rocky terrain.

Some time passed, minutes, hours but soon Maxwell felt a hand touch him, starting him out of the heat-induced haze he was under.

"Hngh?" Maxwell looked down to see a partially-dressed Wilson leaning against his legs. He couldn't feel it, but perhaps Wilson found the action comforting.

"What...are you doing?"

"I need some answers and you're going to give them to me." Wilson smirked.

"..." Maxwell was incredulous. Higgsbury was ridiculous! Not long ago he was trapped, utterly helpless and now hes acting so nonchalant! Maxwell struggled to stop thinking of Them and him and venting the damned heat inside him.

Maxwell's claws scraped against the throne, his hands clasping and unclasping into fists rhythmically.

"Are you going to ask or not." Maxwell growled.

Wilson spoke, unfazed: "Why did They do this in the first place? They...They didn't know how to do this. When they were touching me I had to help..."

Maxwell hated what he was going to say, but Wilson expected an answer. He'd give it to him, then.

"Because of me. I was...enjoying the change in company a little too much. Thus, They thought I should be reminded of my place."

"Oh?...Oh." Wilson murmured, reading between the lines. Wilson blushed, wavering between being flattered or furious at what Maxwell thought of him.

Times had certainly changed.

"Do They choose to interfere every time you think so fondly of me?"

Maxwell frowned, unable to think of a dignified response, instead pulled against his bindings. Wilson was so close he could almost, but not quite touch his unruly hair.

"No." Maxwell choked out. "No, this is the first time They've seen reason to."

"Hmm. Now That is interesting." Wilson paused, looking at Maxwell's hands inquisitively, " Maxwell, can you still feel your hands?"

Maxwell shook at the leading question, unsure to answer, confused and wary. It couldn't be this easy. His mouth was so very, very dry.

"I haven't been able to feel anything but the Throne in...ages."

"Yes, and They took advantage of that today. Watching is controlling to Them, as you say. Well let's give Them something to watch." Wilson smirked devilishly, sliding his hands beneath Maxwell's claws.

It was like a cool breeze engulfing him, the burning fading as a stronger power beheld him. Maxwell shuddered, desperate and wanting, his stoicism dissolved in an instant. He was William again, not conqueror but conquered.

"I-I want to touch-"

"Where, Maxwell?"

The question alone overwhelmed him. Everywhere, anywhere. Think, think! This is what you want-if only not for this treacherous tongue!

"Your face... if you could..."

Wilson nodded, moving his hands away and replacing the empty space with his face.

Maxwell cupped Wilson's face, his own twitching in some semblance of a smile.

Perhaps this was slower paced than Wilson expected given Wilson's curious looks but he savored the moment regardless.

Brushing a thumb against Wilson's lips; Wilson took it upon himself to advance to the next step, licking the dark claw with his tongue.

It was an entirely new experience to Maxwell, relatively speaking. It had been so long he could no longer recall the sensation of wetness. This wetness was entirely pleasant, and he wanted to experience more.

Gently he pulled back on his thumb instead pressing his index and middle finger against Wilson's lips, to which he carefully let in, wary of the sharp tips.

The tongue snaked between them in a most pleasant manner, Maxwell exhaling sharply in response.

"HHHH.... that's good Wilson. Keep going!"

Wilson was a beautiful conductor, Maxwell's very breath felt under the sway of Wilson's ministrations. Life flickered between them. For the first time in a long time, Maxwell felt so very alive.

Wilson was a clever man and constantly full of surprises or so Maxwell was learning. Therefore, when Wilson removed the fingers to instead press their lips together it was a blissful surprise instead of an unwelcome one. That tongue felt even better intertwined with his-Stars he tasted so good! Direct interaction was leagues better than proxy! If he were more coherent he might have even started babbling foolish things like being "entwined forever" or "eternal devotion" but thankfully both coherence and melancholy was beyond him at the moment. Wilson elicited a surprised peep followed by a subtle moan at Maxwell's further probing with his forked, slender tongue. Some "gifts" from Them were better than others and Maxwell felt appreciative of this one at least. The thought of wetness stained Maxwell's thoughts and senses and he drank and drank and drank. The one thing that roused him from the abyss was Wilson, pulling away suddenly and swiftly to breathe.

...He had forgotten. A momentary moment of shame was quickly smothered by Wilson's smile. Then he was moving, lower, lower...What was he thinking?

"That's a bad idea Wilson."

"What?"

"I've been sitting here for thousands of years. What makes you think that my dick is going to work?"

"Whuh-I....You! How?! Explain." Wilson exclaimed, trying to think through the tangled mess of a statement Maxwell had just handed him.

"It...just doesn't. As I said before I can't feel anything but the Throne, though perhaps...I should elaborate. I can feel my hands, somewhat. My head and its associated parts as well, but anything more than that is beyond this bound vessel. Do you understand?"

"Well that's just disappointing," Wilson huffed, shaking his head. "Here I was, ready and willing to return the act you envisioned for me and you can't even feel it!"

"Well?"

"I need to think. There must be something we can do..."

"Of course. Although...loathe as I am to admit it, I grow tired."

"Oh! I shall keep you company then as I plot a course of action." Wilson rushed off to grab some supplies, noticing the machine he had abandoned. Exclaiming some unintelligible sound, he set back to tinkering.

"You...do that." Maxwell murmured as he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.


End file.
